Bartleby the Scrivener: A Tale of Wall Street

BARTLEBY 45
'
With submission, what word, sir,' asked Turkey,
respectfully crowding himself into the contracted space
behind the screen, and by so doing, making me jostle
the scrivener.
1
'
What word,
'
sir ?
I would prefer to be left alone here,' said Bartleby,
as if offended at being mobbed in his privacy.
That 's the word, Turkey,' said I—' that 's it.'
1
Oh, prefer ? oh yes — queer word. I never use it
myself. But, sir, as I was saying, if he would but
'
prefer
1
'
Turkey,' interrupted I, you will please withdraw.'
1
Oh certainly, sir, if you prefer that I should.'
As he opened the folding-door to retire, Nippers at his
desk caught a glimpse of me, and asked whether I would
prefer to have a certain paper copied on blue paper or
white. He did not in the least roguishly accent the
word prefer. It was plain that it involuntarily rolled
from his tongue. I thought to myself, surely I must get
rid of a demented man, who already has in some degree
turned the tongues, if not the heads of myself and clerks.
But I thought it prudent not to break the dismission
at once.
The next day I noticed that Bartleby did nothing
but stand at his window in his dead-wall revery. Upon
asking him why he did not write, he said that he had
decided upon doing no more writing.
'
'
exclaimed I, do no
Why, how now ? what next ? '
more writing ?
'
1 No more.'
1
And what is the reason ? '
1
'
Do you not see the reason for yourself ?
he indiffer-
ently replied.
I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his
eyes looked dull and glazed. Instantly it occurred to
me, that his unexampled diligence in copying by his